


Fathoming Pain and Nights of Memories

by FredGeorge123



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Amputation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But it doesn't matter a lot, Gen, I REGRET NOTHING, Loss of Limbs, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredGeorge123/pseuds/FredGeorge123
Summary: Splat!It felt everything was in slow motion. Dewey felt as if struck in he stomach and cowered slightly. Red was flying everywhere. Red waves and red embers flew gracefully. Dewey thought an artist could paint this scene.AKA I'm sorry but I regret nothing.AKA something that will never happen.





	1. Chapter 1

Dewey felt adrenaline rushing through his veins. They say you are never more alive than when near death.

Dewey was only fifteen but was he stubborn! An inherited trait from his mother. Anyone who knew Della and him would often wonder how Dewey could take after the woman so much despite never meeting her.

Launchpad may be one of Dewey's best friends but he was in no way one of the best pilots Dewey knew. But Dewey trusted Launchpad since he always did manage to save them in the end. And all's well that ends well.

But since Dewey had learned to fly the plane he flew it a fair bit of times. But not always. He wouldn't want Launchpad to feel useless. He wasn't useless and Dewey hated misconceptions.

They say that the eyes the window to the soul while the mouth is the door. The door was made of glass since the rogue in front of Dewey could understand Dewey right by his smirk which said more than any words. Dewey wasn't eloquent anyway.

Eyes speak when the mouth doesn't and the words just come tumbling out. Every eye tells something.

Dewey was confident. He knew that nothing in this world was 100% and so he hated people who were 100% sure when it wasn't right. Confidence was good as long as it was a reasonable and safe amount. Overconfidence was a factor which increased the defeat rate. But Dewey was confident just enough.

The enemy is a tough one. Dewey had swung his sword and attacked the other by surprise. But no damage had been done and the enemy was unharmed and unfazed.

But the enemy's enemy is also tough one. The enemy had swung his sword and attacked the other by surprise. And no damage had been done and the enemy's enemy was unharmed and unfazed despite the size and height difference. Because the enemy's enemy was Dewey Duck who was the son of Della Duck and was almost exactly like her in many ways and Della was stubborn and Della's son was also stubborn.

Dewey was pushed to a corner by the enemy. Dewey shielded himself with his sword and grunted. Sweat beads fell from his forehead and he teeth hurt from clenching. Suddenly Dewey grinned, an eyebrow raised, teeth still clenched. This caught the enemy off guard and lose some compose. A quick mind wasn a gift and gifts need to be used. It would be an insult to the giver not to take advantage of their gift which has so kindly been given.

Dewey kicked the enemy in the stomach causing him to stumble.

The younger took advantage of the enemy and curled his fingers into a fist. He gave all his strength and punched the nameless and untalkative enemy. This enemy, who was already recovering from the kick, staggered even more.

Huey was logical and resourceful but Dewey had a quick, street smart mind. None of them were dumb. Dewey was quick witted, Huey was logical and resourceful and Louie was probably gonna become Scrooge's heir since the other two weren't interested. Huey wanted to go to college and get a job. Also he wanted to become a scout leader part time. Dewey wanted to be like Della. An amazing pilot and fighter, stubborn as hell. He was already stubborn as hell and he was close to accomplishing the other two.

As it was said, Dewey was quick minded. And so he hit his enemy with all he had. The enemy was more experienced but not invincible so Dewey took any chance he got. He grunted and kicked the enemy hard on to the ground. There was a loud thud from the fall and the enemy looked weak. Dewey used holding part, he forgot what it was called, and hit the enemy on the head causing him to fall unconscious.

Dewey took a moment to study the enemy. Their face was covered apart from their eyes. And that was all Dewey actually needed to see. They were closed at the moment but during the fight Dewey looked at them. Dewey's ice blue eyes were like lasers burning the other pair of eyes with icy hydrogen. The eyes were not the same. One was a jungle green with flecks the colour of fiery embers. Those eyes were like steel but even steel shone in the light. The oppentent was struggling but unwavering but still frustrated and glaring while giving Dewey competition. The other eye was black and lifeless. Dewey had learnt long before this that he disliked lifeless eyes for not only did they match ones of sead fish but they were impossible to read. But Dewey could see that this eye was not the enemy's own. It seemed to be made of glass. Both these eyes were closed now. Dewey supposed he could live without seeing them.

Dewey wondered what would it be like to lose a body part. He decided he wouldn't like it or did it pleasant in the slightest despite many of the teenagers of today fantasising and fetishising amputataion. It was quite a disgusting thing to like. Dewey was ambidextrous but still.

Dewey grinned and took the pouch of gems from the rogue. Uncle Scrooge had been angry over their lose and was hoping to find them. So... Dewey went by himself, taking the plane and fought the enemy. Dewey opened the pouch and looked at the gems with a smirk and threw on and caught it again.

Dewey suddenly heard a shout and saw a figure rushing towards.

"Hey Uncle Scrooge!" Dewey said. Uncle Scrooge was saying something and Launchpad was right behind him. Uncle Scrooge couldn't dream of flying after what happened last time. Dewey's grin faltered at the mention of what happened last time. Despite it being almosy completely forgotten, Dewey still felt guilt at his words. He had known after a while that although Uncle Scrooge had a hand, he was not to blame more than 5%. Dewey supposed that for a while that it was his denial and in a way reasonable unwillingness to accept that his mother had left them despite it being perfectly clear that his mother was at fault.

Uncle Scrooge was still shouting and running but Dewey couldn't hear him. He tried to shout back but then he heard the swing of a sword. He jumped back to duck the fatal blow and reached for his own sword. But the enemy was fast. Dewey ran back and jumped and swung his sword. But...

Splat!

It felt everything was in slow motion. Dewey felt as if struck in he stomach and cowered slightly. Red was flying everywhere. Red waves and red embers flew gracefully. Dewey thought an artist could paint this scene.

He fell with shock. His eyes which were previously narrowed and observant were now wide and unseeing. He barely heard Uncle Scrooge shout an Launchpad scream. He didn't comprehend their words in the slightest. He felt on to his back with a loud thud. Dewey barely comprehended the sudden pain on his back and back of his head until after a significant few moments later when reality hit.

Dewey's legs were cramping so badly it felt like they were on fire. He hadn't realised how much he had to run and had run until now when he wasn't using his legs. How strange. Getting up wasn't an option at this point. And his arm was numb yet paining worse than anything he had ever experienced.

Launchpad yanked him upright and Dewey couldn't hold back a cry of pain, not that he tried to suppress it. This made Launchpad drop Dewey from shock. This caused Dewey shout again, albiet weakly.

Dewey tried to bend his legs but they hurt a whole lot. He clenhed his teeth and held back tears.

His head was pounding. It felt like his skull was turning itself outside in and breaking, crushing his brain in the process, and it was making him feel sick. Dewey probably only had a light concussion but his senses were overloading.

The pull on his arms, although gentle, hurt his head and his back and his ribs. He tried to get his feet under him again to take some of his own weight, but his legs refused to obey. His nerves started to throw all kinds of pain signals to his brain. This did not help and only made his head hurt worse.

Before losing conscious Dewey saw blood. His blood. His blood which was everywhere. He couldn't think at all. Dewey's breath had grew heavier and faster and now was slow and tagged but still loud. Dewey turned his head. Uncle Scrooge was fighting the enemy and Launchpad has rushed to Dewey's side. Dewey turned his head the other way and saw a dead, unmoving, bloody hand which had been cut off. His dead, unmoving, bloody hand which had been cut off.

Then he saw black with his last words on his tongue.   
OoO  
The first thing that Dewey felt was pain in his head. His skull was as if caving in and Dewey clean he'd his teeth. His first impluse was to raise his hand to his forehead to press. The pressure made him feel better whenever he had a headache.

His arm was also burning. It burned so much. He decided he'd lift it up to check it.

But... Nothing happened.

He frowned and winced when his head throbbed again. He tried again to raise his hand but nothing happened. All that happened was that his elbow raised up but that wasn't much help. Dewey raised his other hand and felt glad that it raised up. He massaged his forehead and put his hand down.

Suddenly a woman came in which was strange since...

Dewey then comprehended his surroundings. It was all white everywhere. He had read stories where when one dies then they are in an extremely white place. But he was in a bed and there were some brown curtains and a small table. The woman was wearing white clothes and looked like a nurse or doctor.

"Mr Duck how are you feeling?" She said. Her voice was low and... womanly? She had dark hair and was looking anxious. She was probably a check up nurse then.

Dewey opened his mouth and said in a rough voice, "Fine I guess... My head hurts but that about it."

She smiled looking relieved and said, "Well then you should be discharged in a few days."

"My hand is burning but isn't working though..." He remembered and said. He hoped it was normal although he felt a dreaded feeling in his gut. He hoped it didn't mean anything. It was probably because of his arm burning. And it still burned. And twisted... Oh good why was it twisted.

The woman's smile faded and she looked awkward, "Um... Well, Mr Duck... There has been a... slight alter to your physical bodily functions and as it is seen... mentally functions as well... Although the psychological changes have a chance e of being temporary..."

Dewey was confused. What was this woman going on about? Here he was, going crazy with anxiety, head throbbing, arm killing, and she was in the mood of talking. But Dewey wasn't rude unless the other started itso he decided to be polite.

"I'm sorry but I can't quite understand what you are trying to imply. Can you-" How did one say 'just get the hell on with it' politely? "-tell me what are you trying to say?" He could have been more eloquent but it wasn't a secret that Dewey was the most blunt of the siblings. And it wasn't mean or rude or offensive so... And his tone was polite...

"Um... Well..." The nurse was flustered again and more than before. She raised the clipboard to her face and twirled her ponytail.

"I guess it would be better to just outright tell you. It would be easier for the both of us..." Yes exactly! Thank you for understanding!

"What is the last thing that you remember?" No! Dewey raised his working arm to massage his forehead which was throbbing. He tried to remember but his memory was blurry. He remembered the swing of a sword as-

Splat!

It felt everything was in slow motion. Dewey felt as if struck in he stomach and cowered slightly. Red was flying everywhere. Red waves and red embers flew gracefully. Dewey thought an artist could paint this scene.

He fell with shock. His eyes which were previously narrowed and observant were now wide and unseeing. He barely heard Uncle Scrooge shout an Launchpad scream. He didn't comprehend their words in the slightest. He felt on to his back with a loud thud. Dewey barely comprehended the sudden pain on his back and back of his head until after a significant few moments later when reality hit.

Launchpad yanked him upright and Dewey couldn't hold back a cry of pain, not that he tried to suppress it. This made Launchpad drop Dewey from shock. This caused Dewey shout again, albiet weakly.

Dewey tried to bend his legs but they hurt a whole lot. He clenhed his teeth and held back tears.

His head was pounding. It felt like his skull was turning itself outside in and breaking, crushing his brain in the process, and it was making him-

Dewey heard yelling but couldn't comprehend.

The pull on his arms, although gentle, hurt his head and his back and his ribs. He tried to get his feet under him again to take some of his own weight, but his legs refused to obey. His nerves started to throw all kinds of pain signals to his brain. This did not help and only made his head hurt worse.

Dewey felt himself shaking. His vision flashes. He was in a room full of white. He was back on the ground with Launchpad saying things (oh god what was he saying? Dewey couldn't hear, he couldn't understand, stop talking stop talking stop talking) and his head was hurting (he couldn't think his hand burned his hand burned) and his eyes were wet (stop stop stop). He was in a white room he wasn't he was he wasn't. Where was he?

Dewey's legs were cramping so badly it felt like they were on fire. He hadn't realised how much he had to run and had run until now when he wasn't using his legs. How strange. Getting up wasn't an option at this point. And his arm was numb yet paining worse than anything he had ever experienced.

  
Hands held him and there was something being forced on to him (stop holding me stop holding me)

Splat!

It felt everything was in slow motion. Dewey felt as if struck in he stomach and cowered slightly. Red was flying everywhere. Red waves and red embers flew gracefully.  
  
His breathing was slowing (he was gonna die he was gonna die) and dark spots filled his vision.

Before losing conscious Dewey saw blood. His blood. His blood which was everywhere. He couldn't think at all. Dewey's breath had grew heavier and faster and now was slow and tagged but still loud. Dewey turned his head. Uncle Scrooge was fighting the enemy and Launchpad has rushed to Dewey's side. Dewey turned his head the other way and saw a dead, unmoving, bloody hand which had been cut off. His dead, unmoving, bloody hand which had been cut off.

There was no real pain. Only numb pain. So much numbness. And then black...

 


	2. Of numbers and visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewey rubbed his eyes as he woke up slowly. He tried to remember what had happened but his memories were blurry. He slowly opened his eyes and sat up. He then realised he was in a bed and there was a drip and... Oh he was in a hospital.
> 
> He looked around observing and taking in his surroundings. It wasn't much. Dewey had been to a hospital before. Six times. One when he broke his arm at age seven. Two when Louie had his tonsils taken out. Three when Huey had appendicitis. Four when he broke his arm at age ten. Five when Uncle Donald was like extremely sick. And six when he broke his arm at age twelve. Dewey had broke his arm a fair number of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay hope this is realistic.

Dewey rubbed his eyes as he woke up slowly. He tried to remember what had happened but his memories were blurry. He slowly opened his eyes and sat up. He then realised he was in a bed and there was a drip and... Oh he was in a hospital.

He looked around observing and taking in his surroundings. It wasn't much. Dewey had been to a hospital before. Six times. One when he broke his arm at age seven. Two when Louie had his tonsils taken out. Three when Huey had appendicitis. Four when he broke his arm at age ten. Five when Uncle Donald was like extremely sick. And six when he broke his arm at age twelve. Dewey had broke his arm a fair number of times.

And now it was seven. Dewey didn't like the hospital. They were bad at cooking and he wanted to get up and stretch his legs. Not sit down for hours and hours without entertainment. Dewey loved adventure and exploring and looking for answers and learning new things. He couldn't do anything here but sit and sit and sit. And rest because he was forced to.

But... Dewey felt tired and shaken up. He laid down and turned into a new position every five seconds. He felt restless and frustrated. He growled and got up suddenly. He took a few angry and quick breaths and then flopped back down. Nothing. He got up and glared at the bed as of it was at fault for his his condition and the way he felt. It was partly though.

Dewey decided that this was getting nowhere so he should use Huey's advised method; being calm.

He took a deep breath and slicked back his hair. He then suddenly felt a severe pain in his arm and winced. He clenched his teeth and eyes. Huey's method was trash. Or he wasn't doing it right. Or it wasn't working for him now. Or it wouldn't work for him ever. He took a few deep breaths and took off his blanket.

Dewey clenched his teeth at what he saw. It made him forget the pain he was feeling. He suddenly felt sweaty and his heart was racing. He tried to calm down but failed. He widened his eyes and felt so hot and so cold. His temperature couldn't decided.

Where was his hand? It... It had to be there... It had to be there... It was somehow invisible yeah that's it that must be it. How could his hand be hurting like hell if it wasn't there.

He couldn't breath he couldn't breath oh god he couldn't breath where his hand where was his hand?

His heart was running a thousand miles per second and he couldn't breath and his chest hurt and his hand was killing and where was his hand?

He couldn't comprehend his surrounding. He couldn't comprehend where his was and the hands holding him and something being forced on to him.

Where was his hand where was his hand where was his hand where was his-?

OoO  
It had been a week since that incident and ,as Dewey found out, two weeks since-

Dewey picked up a chocolate bar that was sent to him. He slowly took a bite and sighed. Chocolate wasn't as nice as it used to be.

Dewey didn't know what was happening to him. He had completely changed. He got mad and hurt easily but he had huge anger outbursts at a few of the nurses and had been moody lately. He didn't like company but he was an extrovert. Social interactions drained him. He didn't know why. He then shouted at one of the nurses to shut up after she tried to explain phantom pain while he was having a headache. Headaches had been more frequent since- He just snapped. He didn't know why. He sometimes had panic attacks and they sedated him. There was a psychiatrist who tried to help him with what he called PTSD.

"Post Tramatic Stress Disorder," Dr Elaine said kindly. She was pretty new to this career and so it was said that since Dewey was young, she could be his psychiatrist. He had been a psychiatrist for four years which had given him experience with cases. She had worked with anxiety and depression. Border Line Personality Disorder was her last project as she said (Dewey felt irked when sheut Dewey had often gotten super annoyed when she said project). Dr Elaine was dealing with PTSD for the first time and said she was hoping she could help.

Dewey didn't like her. She wasn't mean or anything but she made Dewey annoyed. Everything made him annoyed and especially everyone. And then he felt guilty for feeling like that and his guilt grew whenever he burst out in anger.

A doctor came in with a small smile. He was tall and looked pretty handsome. Dewey caught the nurse who was taking him food glance and blush at his sight. She quickly went out but Dewey could see she was just outside the door. He didn't care about the nurses and their interest in handsome men.

"Hello, Dewey," the man said, "I'm Dr Carter but you could called me Nick if you want. I don't mind either."

Dewey raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The man- Dr. Carter- looked young. As if in college.

"Do you want to see your family?" Dewey felt like he was hit. The man was straightforward. No sugar coating, no making Dewey wait for an hour to tell him one thing, both which caused Dewey to get angry.

"I..." Dewey probably looked as much surprised as he felt. His eyes widened and he looked to the side. "I..." He did but he felt worried that he'd snap at them. And he was at fault for his condition. He overestimated himself and didn't check the man's condition properly. He should've just ran after getting the gems. And his family was suffering. He... He...

He realised Dr Carter was still there. He gulord and thought about it.

"I... No... I can't..." He wished it so much but he just couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't.

Suddenly he felt a hand tightly grasp his. A voice told him to concentrate on their voice . Dewey concentrated.

"1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3."

Dewey slowed went back to normal. His breathing slowed down back to normal. He then noticed his setting.

"Huh...?" Dewey looked around. He caught a glimpse of Dr Carter leaving and was left alone in an empty room. Being alone made him calmer. He slicked back his hair and stared at the door which had just been closed by Dr Carter. Dewey knew he was gonna to be back. But for now...

Dewey took a book from the self. The Fiend with Twenty Faces by Edogawa Ranpo. Dewey liked books with adventure or mystery or crime or organisations, or all four. He didn't feel like reading but anything to keep his mind off. He skimmed through the pages but couldn't concentrate on anything but memory of Dr Carter's calming voice which had worked to calm him down.

Dewey massaged his forehead with his hand and...

He would never get used to it.  
OoO  
Everyday Dr Carter come and ask him of he wanted his family to come. Dewey did but at the same time he didn't and couldn't. After every one of Dewey's noes he went as if nobody's business. Dr Carter didn't bring up anything. He just asked if Dewey wanted his family to visit and sometimes played cards or talked about some books he liked. Dewey first thought that he was trying to get on something but once when Dewey was extremely close to shouting Dr Carter said it was time for him to go and left.

It had been a few days since Dr Carter had made his first appearance and then Dewey finally decided that he would want his family to visit.

Dewey was scared but he didn't want to be a coward (A\N: Remember that not everything Dewey thinks is right. He's suffering from guilt as well as PTSD. It isn't cowardly to be afraid of facing your family although it recommended to see them for both of you). So he decided to cave in and finally said yes. Dr Carter said nothing but just nodded and left.

Dewey sat there for an hour when the door. Uncle Donald rushed in. Dewey looked at the front of the bed before finally looking at Uncle Donald. His throat felt so dry an his eyes watered. Uncle Donald had dark circles and his hair was messier than usually. His clothes were unironed and he looked thinner than usual.

"...Dewey?" Uncle Donald croaked.

"H-hey, Unca Donald..." Dewey said back.

Uncle Donald suddenly wrapped his arms around Dewey and cried. He shook with sobs and Dewey cracked. He let his tears fall and fell into his Uncle's embrace. He wrapped his own arm around him and suddenly froze. Uncle Donald didn't notice. Dewey didn't want to spoil the moment but-

"1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3." He was reminded of Dr Carter's voice and he slowly breathed with each number. He calmed down and remembered where he was and continued hugging Uncle Donald.

Finally Uncle Donald let go and Dewey was reminded of his Uncle's unruly state. He felt guilty and opened his mouth to say something. But suddenly Uncle Donald went to the door and said something. Then came Uncle Scrooge who looked so... Un-Scroogish.

His usually neat and sophisticated demeanor was now unruly and messy. His clothes were rushedly ironed and his tie was crooked. His hair was sticking weirdly out of his hat. Dewey felt guilty again but felt glad to see Uncle Scrooge and his throat was tight again.

"Uncle Scrooge..." Dewey said weakly and roughly.

"Lad," Scrooge smiled a small, weak smile that didn't reach his eyes which were watery.

Uncle Scrooge awkwardly stretched his arms near Dewey and Dewey wrapped his arms around Uncle Scrooge suddenly. They both hugged while crying and Uncle Donald was heard sniffing. He then joined in the hug too.  
OoO  
"Huey and Louie also wanted to come-" Uncle Donald said.

"-Webby, Launchpad and Mrs Beakly were also extremely keen-"

"-but we thought that maybe they should come later."

Dewey felt closed his eyes and thought. He... Yes that sounded okay. He only hoped no one would pity him because...

"Do you wanna see...?" Dewey said slowly. The other two exchanged nervous glances.

"We don't mind Dewey," Uncle Donald said kindly.

Dewey's eyes went to the table beside him. There was the Counte of Monte Cristo. Huey had sent it saying he might enjoy it. He hadn't started reading it but he decided he would soon. He was pretty sure it would take him to read a few times to understand slightly what was going on. Dewey then decided that he would show them the stump. Better to just get it done with.

He took off the blanket slowly and shaking and shakely lifted his stump. He tried to rid of his eyes of all emotion. With a darkened face and stormy eyes he looked up at them. Uncle Scrooge had turned pale (look what you have done) and Uncle Donald moaned (your fault your fault your fault). Uncle Scrooge growled (they're sad and upset) and clenched his fists (don't be sad). He turned around and took a few deep breaths (your fault your fault your fault). Uncle Donald suddenly said, "So how is it in the hospital? I heard the food is bad and it must, you are way too thin."

Dewey looked at Uncle Donald who looked at him with waiting eyes.

"Oh... well... Yeah, I don't like it," Dewey weakly made a face to show his disgust.

Uncle Scrooge sat down and Dewey then talked about how much the hospital sucked. Uncle Scrooge laughed and Uncle Donald scolded Dewey for not eating and sleeping enough.

Dewey felt glad that the subject had been changed and decided to talk about a few things. Some things he didn't want to talk about and he didn't. Then his uncles talked about how it was at home and funny things that had happened.

Visiting hours were over way too soon. Uncle Donald argued about staying and Uncle Scrooge tried to reason. The nurses didn't cave in even to Uncle Scrooge! Scrooge McDuck the trillionnaire, great adventurer, etc-!

"Fine but only one of you can stay," it was finally decided. Uncle Scrooge said that Uncle Donald could stay with an understanding look in his eye. Dewey was glad. He wanted Uncle Donald to stay even though he loved Uncle Scrooge as well. But Uncle Donald had taken care of him ever since he was born. Dewey was glad that he wasn't asked because he didn't want Uncle Scrooge to feel hurt.

Dewey made space for Uncle Donald and they both fell asleep.  
OoO  
Splat!

It felt everything was in slow motion. Dewey felt as if struck in he stomach and cowered slightly. Red was flying everywhere. Red waves and red embers flew gracefully. Dewey thought an artist could paint this scene.

He fell with shock. His eyes which were previously narrowed and observant were now wide and unseeing. He barely heard Uncle Scrooge shout an Launchpad scream. He didn't comprehend their words in the slightest. He felt on to his back with a loud thud. Dewey barely comprehended the sudden pain on his back and back of his head until after a significant few moments later when reality hit.

Launchpad yanked him upright-

Dewey suddenly heard a voice calling to him but he ignored it.

Dewey couldn't hold back a cry of pain, not that he tried to suppress it.

"Dewey, Dewey, Dewey"

This made Launchpad drop Dewey from shock. This caused Dewey shout again, albiet weakly.

"Dewey, Dewey, Dewey"

Dewey tried to bend his legs but they hurt a whole lot. He clenhed his teeth and held back tears.

"Dewey, Dewey, Dewey"

His head was pounding. It felt like his skull was turning itself outside in and breaking, crushing his brain in the process-

Dewey suddenly got up, drenched in sweat and breathing fast and heavily. His heart was racing. He... He...

  
"Dewey look at me," Uncle Donald's voice said calmly.

Dewey looked up at Uncle Donald with wide scared eyes. Uncle Donald's dark blue eyes stared at him.

"1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3," Dr Carter's strategy came into his mind. He became calmer but suddenly he saw... He saw...

Dewey saw blood. His blood. His blood which was everywhere. He couldn't think at all. Dewey's breath had grew heavier and faster and now was slow and tagged but still loud. Dewey turned his head. Uncle Scrooge was fighting the enemy-

"Dewey, we're at the hospital in bed. Concentrate on what I'm saying. You're okay. You're safe. I'm with you..." Dewey concentrated on his uncle's words. He could do that. He could do that.

Dewey turned his head the other way and saw a dead, unmoving, bloody hand which had been cu-

Uncle Donald kept trying to bring him out of it (why couldn't he snap out of it?), he kept talking calmly (he was a shameful-)

"Dewey, you're at the hospital. You are safe."

Dewey opened his mouth slowly and tried to say something, "Unca... I... I..."

" Dewey, I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder, okay?"

Dewey didn't say anything for a while. Uncle Donald waited.

"...I... Okay..."

A hand slowly made it's way on to Dewey's shoulder.

"See I'm here. You can feel my hand right?"

Dewey closed his eyes and concentrated on he arm. He then quickly opened his eyes in case he would see-

"Here, Dewey..." Dewey looked at Uncle Donald who was holding a glass of water. Dewey slowly took it and slowly drank it. He gave the empty glass back and Uncle Donald put it back.

Uncle Donald looked at him for a while and then took opened the drawer and took out some cards. Dewey looked at them and Uncle Donald handed him six and took six for himself. He out the rest in a pile.

"You wanna start?"

Dewey nodded and put a card down. 


End file.
